


Need a Hug?

by hipsterloki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crying, Gen, M/M, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipsterloki/pseuds/hipsterloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of 02x08. Stiles has had a rough night and needs a hug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need a Hug?

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta Read.

He was worried. It was an understatement to be honest – watching his friend being carried around, arms and legs swinging like a rag doll by another who seemed worse for wear was enough to make the most laid back person worry. But then he could also see his dad’s face, ready to cry, and could imagine him just reaching for a bottle of whiskey and all of it was his fault. He was very worried.

Derek had left Stiles sitting in his humming jeep to carry Scott inside the vet’s hospital – and it all seemed like a bad joke you’d find on the back of a cereal box. ‘What kind of doctor does a werewolf see? – a vet! Ha. Ha. Ha.’ Stiles groaned and let his forehead rest against the wide steering wheel of his jeep. Not  _wide_ , he corrected himself, voluptuous and curvy.  _Sorry, girl._  He thought dejectedly to his humming car.

He tried to be excited about doing something right with that Mountain Ash. He had believed, and just like Wendy had flown. But now it was over, and the lurking emotions he had been trying to stave off were coming back and he couldn’t keep flying anymore. He was Captain Hook now, he could hear the ticking, everything was coming up to clamp around him, and strangely they  _did_  feel like alligator teeth and wow he  _was_  Captain—

“What’s wrong?” The voice was tired, the face peering down at him more-so and yet it somehow never seemed to stray too far away from it’s default setting of – stoic as a marble statue. But that was Derek for you, the creeper with a great poker face.

“What? Nothing! Just tired, I mean come on, taking care of two werewolves and running around trying to plant a mouse trap for Killer Croc? It’s totally exhausting!” Stiles was thankful that when his mouth opened, the words flew out like normal. It was a rush of syllables forgoing as much punctuation as possible to get out as quickly as they could.

“You are lying,” Derek said after a pause. He looked confused for a moment, as if he couldn’t understand the three words he had just uttered. Maybe because he had expected what Stiles had said to be the truth, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it Stiles had stepped up to the plate, had run around trying to keep his pack as safe as possible. He had been ready to believe it, but the way Stiles’ heart beat lurched, the way he just reeked of grief, told him otherwise.

“What? No, man, listen—“ Stiles tried again but his voice caught. What was the point of trying to fumble out lies? What was the point, when he had a werewolf standing next to his car, glaring down at him? Stiles let his forehead fall back against the steering wheel and his vision burned and blurred. He felt hot, his throat knotting up and he tried to fight it because really, how embarrassing is it to sit in your car and cry in front of Derek-Fucking-Hale.

Everyone’s problems seemed more minuscule in front of the last living Hale, and Stiles was going to cry about it? He tried frantically to blink back tears, long fingers gripping desperately to the steering wheel. And he couldn’t speak – he knew if he did, he’d choke, his voice would hitch, or he’d really cry.

“I got something in my eye,” Stiles finally managed, weakly. When he looked up, Derek seemed more scared now than what he would have looked like if he had to face the Kanima, the Argents and his crazy Uncle all at once. Derek looked stricken, beyond stricken, he looked horrified at seeing Stiles breaking down and that made Stiles feel even more stupid.

“Uh,” Derek managed to make a noise, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His frown had deepened, eyes looking lost and looking for some sort of lifeline to get him out.

“Look at the big bad wolf, freaked out – I have to remember this for posterity.” Stiles tried to laugh but it came out sounding more pathetic than anything.

“Stiles,” Derek managed to say, edging closer to the car cautiously. “What’s  _wrong_?”

And it was the out of place urgency in his voice, like the guy that 9 out of 10 times was more annoyed with him than anyone else was actually worried about him, that made Stiles' brown eyes glaze over with tears. It was the look on Derek’s face that made Stiles’ bottom lip quiver, and the tears start to track down his face.

Derek tensed and if Stiles could see through his tears, he would’ve laughed at the deer-caught-in-headlights look on Derek's face. But Stiles couldn’t see, he couldn’t even breathe and all he wanted to do was let out a loud sob. Instead he could only squeeze his eyes shut, tears leaking out and running over his flushed cheeks. He knew he must have looked wrecked, because he had seen his mom cry before and he didn’t know why but dad had always been compelled to tell him he looked just like her, especially when he cried. Her face would scrunch up, her face would flush, and if she managed to open her eyes, they’d be red and watery and she would make these little noises like she was trying to contain herself– the thought of her crying only made his shoulders shake, his head bow low, and a pained noise escape him.

A hand, large and warm, wrapped around the back of his neck, lurching Stiles’ head to the side until it bumped against a wall of muscle that was Derek’s chest. It felt awkward at first, the wolf’s arm hesitantly wrapping around Stiles’ shoulder, the stiff “shh, shh, shh” coming from somewhere above Stiles’ head. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that Derek had opened the car door to get closer and it made Stiles turn to press against the warm body that was offering him some comfort.

After a while, Stiles had managed to get himself down to sniffling against Derek’s chest, who just continued to quietly hold him. He became aware of how stupid he must’ve look, clinging onto Derek and sobbing into his shirt. His masculinity card was left so far behind him, he’d have to go on The Amazing Race to try and get it back. But after the initial awkwardness, Derek’s tight grip had loosened, hands resting against Stiles’ back, thumbs carefully running up and down his spine in such a soothing manner that it made Stiles's body feel loose and heavy.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled against the large wet spot his crying had left on Derek’s dark shirt.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, who else is going to take care of your pack?” Stiles tried to pull away, unsuccessfully. The hugging through his mini mental breakdown – cool. The bro!hug afterwards – cool. But now the hug had officially ran too long to be acceptable as just a friend hug, because Derek’s hands were big on his back, and Stiles was beginning to memorize the lines of Derek’s pecs and was it just him or was Derek’s heart beating faster in his chest? No that was just him – he’s not a werewolf, why was he trying to pretend like he could sense these things? All he knew was Derek was not letting go.

“Who is going to take care of you?” The question was quiet and thoughtful. Stiles had a feeling it was rhetorical but he decided to answer, because whatever  _this_  was, it was weird.

“Uh, thanks big guy, but I don’t need taking care of. You’re the one who needs help, I mean we should definitely start a Werewolf 101 class or co-write a Lupine for Dummies – I’ll teach them how to use their common sense and you can teach them how to sniff out poo from mud—“

“Stiles.” Derek always sounded like he was caught between a sigh and a reproach. He knew he had started rambling, but knowing that Derek was  _actually_  worried, not just a ‘oh god there is a kid crying in my arms what do I do, what do I do?’ worried, but was actually, truthfully worried about his well-being made Stiles squirm uncomfortably in Derek’s arms.

“You’ve been working like an absent minded single parent dude, do you even pack their lunches and make sure they clean their abandoned train station before heading off to school?” Stiles was trying to veer the conversation off course. He was usually good at it, but when he moved his face away from Derek’s warm chest to peek up from under his eyebrows and at Derek, the werewolf was watching him with unamused eyes.

“Scott joined my pack,” Derek said after a while, Stiles’ onslaught of words having died down with the look Derek was giving him.

“Yeah I know, now I have to keep you assholes alive to make sure he stays alive. I’m working overtime here!” Stiles tried again to lighten whatever this moment was, to make Derek annoyed enough to let go, because he felt like the side of his face was starting to meld with Derek’s pec. He could feel the even beating of Derek’s heart, and it was so soothing and disconcerting at the same time.

“But,” Derek cut in patiently, “he had his own pack. You, and Allison. Whether you like it or not, he brought you into our pack. He brought you into  _my_  pack. So, who’s going to take care of you?”

When Stiles tried to push himself away from the chest he noticed during his little emotional hiccup that his body had rearranged itself around Derek’s body, legs dangling on either side of him as he sat on the very edge of his seat. If only this could be more embarrassing. He would dare himself to try and see if he could in fact make this more humiliating for himself but the somber side of him knew he absolutely could and he didn’t feel like risking it. Stiles tried to pull his hands away from in between their bodies, but now he was sure it looked like he was trying to feel up Derek’s abs and that is  _not_  what he wanted, right?

There was just too much hugging, Stiles wasn’t used to it. He was sure as hell Derek wasn’t used to it either. He could imagine the affection-starved werewolf hugging himself at night since he had no one else to hug. Instead of making him smile and laugh inwardly, the thought depressed him. Derek alone in his burned up dilapidated house or curled up in the car of the abandoned train, huddling and trying to give himself a hug because no one else would – the feeling of being a Grade A asshole swept over Stiles for the second time that night. The first when he looked into the tired, lined face of his dad who announced that he had gotten fired – because of him no less.

Stiles managed to wiggle his arms free and instead of pushing, he wrapped them around Derek’s torso, hugging him close. Derek stiffened momentarily, startled by the warm arms tightening around him and pulling him closer. Stiles could definitely hear Derek’s heart beating faster now,  but he wasn’t going to pull away – if he could set things right to at least one of the people he had felt he had hurt that evening, then he was going to try his damndest to do so.

“Usually you’re such a sour wolf,” Stiles teased at Derek’s compliant and quiet manner.

“Usually you’re annoying,” Derek replied and he could  _hear_  the smile in his voice. There was another moment of silence, and it was so weird how them holding onto each other didn’t feel so weird at all. It felt okay, like it was necessary and natural for them to be clinging onto each other. “But you’re part of my pack now, Stiles. You and Scott. I’m the Alpha, I need to take care of you. I need to make sure you’re going to be alright.”

Stiles shook his head and stopped before Derek could think he was nuzzling his hard chest, “Look, Derek. I appreciate that, and thanks for this – I guess I needed it. But, I’m really going to be okay. I’m always okay. You don’t have to worry about me, no one has to worry about me – It’s the Stilinski gene man, we’re resilient fucks.” Stiles reassured, loosening his hold around Derek’s torso and letting his arms fall to his side, Derek hesitantly followed suit and suddenly they were back to awkward again.

Stiles didn’t know where to look because he couldn’t look the werewolf in the eyes – this guy who found him bemoaning in his car, and proceeded to hug him through one of his worst emotional breakdowns since his mom died. And Derek had returned to his default statuesque state, staring down at Stiles with intense eyes.

“This pack needs you,” Derek finally said, edging back.

“I know, I know – I'm the Pack Dad and whatnot.”

“I’m the Alpha,” Derek corrected and there was a smile edging its way onto his face. “I’m the Pack Dad.”

“Okay – well you know tonight I kept your kids safe.”

“Thanks, Pack Mom,” Derek’s face looked more intimidating when he smiled. His teeth were long, and pearly white -- Stiles was sure if he forced Derek’s mouth open wide, he’d see rows of them, like a shark. A furry shark. A wolf shark.

“That’s not fair,” he put out his lower lip for his best pout and swung his legs back inside the car. “I’m the second Pack Dad. I’m like Pack Dad Jr., okay?” Stiles tried to regain some form of his masculinity after sobbing in another man’s arms, probably wiping his nose on said man’s gray shirt, and now being the official Pack Mom of Beacon Hills’ very own Werewolf Pack – no, Stiles’ manhood was being torn away from him and it didn’t help that his face still looked like a prepubescent middle schooler in his eyes (he couldn’t even grow whiskers on his chin yet).

“No, you’re definitely a Pack Mom.”

Stiles swung his jeep door closed and leaned out of the open window, a cheeky grin twisting his lips. “Well papa, give mama a kiss and kiss the kids goodnight for me. Make sure they brush their fangs before they go to bed – don’t forget their vitamins Papa Wolf. Remember no fighting after eleven, and—“ And then Derek was there, glowing red eyes glaring down at him, fangs jutting over his bottom lip and Stiles froze, curvy lips parted in a small ‘o’.

“Still want that kiss,  _mama_?” Derek growled, and Stiles could hear the rumble in Derek’s chest from where he was. They were finally back to some semblance of normal, with Derek threateningly looming over him and growling but all Stiles could do was smile.

“You are so totally compensating for something,” Stiles replied before ducking his head back into the car. “Goodnight, Papa Sourwolf.”

Stiles peeled out of the almost empty parking lot, Derek growling after him and he could only laugh. He felt lighter, felt calmer, and something had changed between Derek and himself – he could feel that too. Something had happened, and the fact that Derek joked around without the world imploding was a sign of that.

But when he arrived at his house, stepped inside, and saw his dad still sitting at the kitchen table, turning a glass of whisky around in his hands idly, the crushing feeling he had before Derek had hugged him came back, knocking the wind out of him.

“Dad,” and his dad looked up, bleary eyed and unsteady in his seat.

“Son.”

It was all he could say. And hauling his dad up the stairs was the only thing Stiles could do. Helping him into bed and whispering sorry desperately like it would fix everything was all Stiles could do. Shutting his dad’s door and sliding down against the wood, feeling his head begin to pound and tears beginning to prick at his tired eyes was all his body could do. He was going to need another one of Derek’s hugs soon. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them to his chest.

Yeah, another one of Derek’s hugs would have been fantastic.

* * *

“Look everyone, he lives!” Stiles called out, hopping out of his jeep and over to Scott’s side who still had a sickly shade of gray to his face.

“Yeah, just barely – wait…” Scott’s face crinkled, nose wrinkling at the bridge and nostrils flaring wide. “What is that?”

“What’s what?” Stiles tried to mimic him, sniffing at the air like it could tell him something. He turned to look at Scott whose expression held horror and confusion but Stiles was used to the look on Scott and prodded impatiently, “Dude, what?”

“Stiles,” Scott began slowly, grabbing at Stiles’ hoodie and dragging him a few feet. “It smells like Derek’s nested in your body or something.”

“Wait, what?” That sounded like some horrifying Alien shit, he thought to himself, what if in all that hugging Derek had implanted something down his throat and he was in danger of it coming out through his stomach in ribbons of intestines and blood?

“Stiles, you smell like you doused yourself in cologne made of Derek. It’s making my nose hurt, man.” Now that sounded much better then Derek being inside of him. Stiles mentally slapped himself for the Freudian slip and just shrugged.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles waved Scott off as he kept walking towards the school.

“Liar!” Scott shouted after him, following pursuit. “What did you guys do?”

“Nothing dude, we took you to the vet, so maybe it was because of that—“

“No, no, no, Batman. Or should I say Bat _mom_?” It was a female voice coming up from behind them, and Erica glided around the both of them smiling, Isaac in tow. “Not even we smell like that and we live with him.”

“Bat _mom_ , really?” Stiles rolled his eyes and glanced down the steps and towards the parking lot. Derek was sitting there in his black stupid car, probably listening to this horribly stupid conversation. He could tell because the smile on Derek’s face was happy and scary, extremely scary. “You guys are idiots, let me through, I’m gonna be late.” Stiles huffed, shouldering his backpack and trying to get through the wall of wolves comprising of Isaac, Erica and now Scott. He really hated Scott being in this pack now.

“She’s right Stiles, they don’t smell like that and they touch him all the time—“

“Kinky.” Stiles interrupts, “But I swear, whatever it is that you think Derek and I did—“

“He marked you,” Erica was laughing now, hands perched on her hips. Isaac smirked and Scott, well poor Scott looked about as stricken as he would've been if someone had caught him and Allison in the middle of sex.

Stiles sputtered, yanked his backpack back over his shoulder and shook his head vehemently. “He hugged me alright – I… I needed a hug and he hugged me okay!” Embarrassment made his cheeks flush a bright red, and he pursed his mouth into a tight line.

Silence swept over the trio in front of him and then suddenly, Erica apologized, took a step back and dragged Isaac into the school with her. Scott glanced over at the parking lot one last time before he put an arm over Stiles’ shoulder, guiding him towards the school.

“I… I cried.” Stiles grumbled, shuffling along. “And he saw. So he hugged me.” Stiles felt like a child, mumbling dejectedly at Scott.

“He did mark you, you know.” Scott said, letting go of Stiles’ shoulder to go to his locker. Stiles followed, curiosity getting the better of him. “You know, like Allison and me. I smell like her, and well – she smells like me. Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Derek – they can all tell I’m still with her, because I’m all over her. You know my scent is all over her. And even when I’m with you, or I touch someone else – It’s not the same, the smell isn’t the same and god it’s overpowering right now, like I feel like I’m going to vomit, you need to air out – did you even  _take_ a shower this morning?”

“I was running late, alright, I took a shower yesterday! Anyways, you mean like when a dog pisses on a tree to claim that it’s his? Is that what you’re saying? That’s what he just did to me? I smell like Derek piss? That’s just great, I’m vulnerable to the asshole for like a minute and he takes advantage of it – what does this even mean, what’s happening here? I think  _I_ may vomit!”

“You’re asking me to explain to you how this works? Me? The straight-D student? Really? All I know is that he marked you okay, he scented you and now you smell like he put a Derek air freshener around your neck! I don’t know what it means! I don’t know how that guy’s mind works!” Exasperated and sounding a little shrill, Scott quieted down when he realized that everyone was staring at them, especially Isaac and Erica, and now Boyd was there too, all smirking that werewolf smirk of theirs. The ‘I’m-deranged-and-slightly-feral’ grin as Stiles liked to call it.

Stiles slunk against the lockers, clutching his bag to his chest now. Of course, he had thought something had changed that night, that Derek had come to  _feel_  for him, like they were real friends. But Derek probably did this to make him look like an idiot, within the  _pack_  at least.

“They stopped because of him.” Scott said, digging out his books from the locker and leading the way to their homeroom. “He told them to quit it.”

He was still a jerk.

“Something about being nice to Mama,” at that Scott smiled coyly, eying Stiles with a playful glint in his eyes.

The biggest of jerks.

“Well if he’s still stalking us, like he usually does every single day of his life – I’ll say, well played Papa, well played." Stiles sighed, and he'd be lying if he said he was upset. He'd be lying if he said that Derek playing around with him didn't make him feel accepted, and just slightly overjoyed.

Derek sat in the parking lot and smiled.


End file.
